The building is three stories high, with large arches above the plated glass windows. Plush navy carpet with an intricate design in burgundy and gold flows down the hallway as far as I can see. The air feels cool and smells like rich, old men. A faint cigar smell lingers in the air. An odd scent for a gym.

Inside we are greeted by a woman with short black hair dressed in all white standing at an ornate looking reception desk. She smiles and I’m blinded, her white teeth a perfect match for her crisp white polo.

“Good afternoon, Mr. St. Clair,” she says cheerfully. “I see you have court seven reserved.”

“Yes.” Barrett nods, then places his hand on my lower back, giving me a little push forward. “This is my girlfriend, Chloe Anderson.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Anderson, I’m Alana.”

“Hi.” I smile back, but her brilliance is unmatched.

“Chloe is going to need a tennis outfit and shoes.”

“Of course.” She nods like people show up to a racquet club every day completely unprepared to play tennis.

“Before I send her over to the pro shop for a fitting, let me get your racket, Mr. St. Clair.”

Alana disappears through the door, only to come back a moment later with a racket bag.

“David did a wonderful job restringing your racket. It’s good as new.”

“Thank you,” Barrett says, then takes the racket bag from her.

“Do you have a preference for racket brand and style, Miss Anderson?”

I look to Barrett.

“She’ll do a Babolat Pure Aero. Right-handed.”

My brows lift at how fancy that sounded. “What happened to Prince and Wilson?”

“They’re still around.” He shrugs.

Alana hands me the racket Barrett requested, then offers to walk me to the pro shop.

“I’ll take her.” Barrett motions for me to follow.

We pass through a great room that is large enough to be a tennis court, but it’s decorated with high-back reading chairs, side tables and lamps. The lamps cast a warm glow, the perfect reading light. I’m jealous of the man reading his paper in peace.

A thought comes to mind.

“As your girlfriend, do I have access to the racket club?”

“Court reservations may only be made by members, but you have access to the other amenities, whirlpool, sauna, lounge and reading room.”

Forget tennis. Sign me up for the reading room.

“I’ve added you to my guest list.”

“So, when we break up, am I going to be removed?” I ask.

From the sign on the door that says Pro Shop, I can see our destination ahead.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he says.

“The racquet club or the breakup?”

“Either.”

“Wait.” My footsteps slow and our joined hands pull taut. Barrett turns back toward me. “How are we going to break up?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t given it much thought.”